


Bend The Knee

by magnoliatattoo (theladyinthecape)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, I mean, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Smut, she wanted him to bend the knee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyinthecape/pseuds/magnoliatattoo
Summary: Jon decides to honor the Dragon Queen's request, but on his own terms.





	Bend The Knee

**Author's Note:**

> I was kinda blown away from the response to my first Jonerys smut fic, I decided to write another. I've acutally had this one in my head ever since 7x02. I hope you like. :) 
> 
> Unbetaed, and I own nothing.

The heavy wooden door slammed, causing Daenerys to jump and turn away from the fire. Her small council - Varys, Tyrion, and Missandei - turned with her, surprised at the interruption. The shuffling of boots heralded only one intruder from the foyer, and soon Jon Snow emerged from the shadow of the hall. 

“My Lord,” Dany spoke regally, with purpose, hiding the pleasure she felt at the King in the North’s unexpected presence. “This is a meeting of my small council. Is your matter urgent?” She watched as Jon looked around the room, the obsidian table, a map of Westeros, taking up most of the space. The fire flickered shadows across the room, creating images of dragons and lions and wolves dancing by the light of the flames. 

“I’m here to bend the knee, Your Grace,” Jon Snow stated clearly, an edge of urgency to his tone. Tyrion looked up at his Queen, taking note of her quickened breath as the Wolf King spoke. 

“Jon Snow,” Tyrion’s voice was clear and tinged with humor. “I didn’t realize I was half into my cups already this morning. Did I hear you correctly? Step closer - were you about to -”

“Silence.” Dany urged, not sparing her hand a glance. She studied Jon Snow carefully, his black wool tunic trimmed with white fur, his gloved hand resting atop the pommel of his sword, sheathed and slung low on his left hip. His black curls were pulled back, although some had escaped their bindings and fell forward to frame his pale face.

This should be interesting, she thought, as the Northern King had so obstinately refused to bend the knee at her every request. So much so that she had stopped asking, lest Jon Snow think she needed him as much as he needed her.

“Leave us.” She commanded to her counselors. Tyrion lowered his goblet to the hearth with a roll of his eyes which Dany mercifully ignored, Varys turned and left without speaking. Missandei beamed a small smile at Dany as she turned to leave, eliciting the slightest arch of a brow from the Queen. Missandei closed the door softly as she left, and Jon turned back to Dany as they were finally - completely - alone.

“Your Grace,” Jon said, and took long strides until he stood directly in front of her, between her and the fire, and he felt the heat of the flames warming his back. Dany did not flinch, locking gazes with her northern counterpart, trying to see behind his eyes, to read his soul, to understand. 

Jon unhooked his belt, pulling Longclaw from his waist and tossing it to the stone tile of the floor. He stared at her, silent and intense, removed his gloves and cloak, and sank to his knees. 

“My Lord,” Dany began as he looked up at her from his kneeling position. “Do you swear -”

“No,” he said, and Dany stopped. She was speechless as he took her left hand into his, bringing it to his lips, brushing the knuckle of her index finger with the tiniest of kisses. “I’m here to bend the knee, Your Grace, but not for my people. Not for the North. Only for me.”

Awestruck, Dany could only watch as he brought his hands to her waist, reaching up under her riding coat. He fingered the laces to her leather breeches, and Dany’s heart slammed in her chest as fire pooled in her lower belly. As she realized what was happening she closed her eyes - wanting to wake from the dream if it was one but never wanting it to end. He tugged and pulled at the fine leather, then looked up at her face. 

“Look at me, Your Grace.” His request was bold but quiet, a prayer from his lips to his goddess.

Dany had to force her eyes open, her long, dark lashes fluttering. She focused on his face, his lovely, pale, scarred face; the deep, dark black of his eyes. She felt herself moisten as he began pulling down her breeches, exposing her small clothes, and she flushed when she realized he could see her arousal, dampening the cotton and causing the apex of her thighs to glisten in the firelight. He broke his gaze, his eyes staring straight ahead to that soft triangle where her thighs met her mound, and he tugged at the thin, wet garment until the smallclothes joined her breeches at her knee. 

He leaned in, nuzzling her soft curls with his nose, inhaling her scent. He was hard himself, he had been ever since he had decided to come here, to prove his worthiness and submit to his Queen. She smelled divine - a musky, smoky sweetness that was her essence. He pressed his nose into her curls, rubbing his face in her mound, the fleshy lips of her sex soft and warm and fragrant.

“Jon,” she whispered, bringing her hands to his head, pulling him back so that she could see into his eyes. She had nothing to say, no words would form, and she felt maybe it was for the best, to allow this in silence before they said goodbye, before he left her for whatever it was that existed beyond the wall. 

He scooted her back slightly, so that the war table was at her back. Satisfied that she would not fall, he returned his gaze to her beauty, parting her nether lips with his thumbs, placing a soft, chaste kiss to the pink flesh beneath. Dany gasped and shuddered - how long had it been since she had a man between her legs she could not remember - her eyes closing involuntarily as her blood began to boil. Jon’s hot, wet pink tongue slipped out, a short lick to her clit, before he adjusted his position further beneath her. 

He broadened his tongue and lapped her from slit to clit, once, twice, and Dany began to moan softly. He teased her mercilessly, drawing small patterns on her clit then lapping at her entrance again. She began to quiver, her hips circling toward his face in small thrusts. He broke cadence, leaning back to look up at his Queen, the firelight illuminating her skin, her eyes closed and her face flushed with desire. She was beautiful and dangerous and everything to him; she was like going home, home to a place he had never known. 

He scooted further between her legs, taking a moment to palm his hard, weeping cock beneath his trousers. His needs were great but of no importance to him, his hand was his only companion here at Dragonstone. He craned his neck back, pushing her legs apart further, and Dany’s hips came to rest on the edge of the table. 

He gazed at her pretty pink, glistening cunt. She was wet, his saliva and her arousal mingling and dripping down her leg. She was delicious, tasting of bitter honey and mulled spice, and she burned his tongue with a heat all her own. Suddenly he plunged his tongue into her opening, his nose smashing into her clit with purpose. She cried out, shaking, as he wiggled his tongue inside her, then pulled back to repeat the same. She was fluttering around him, small whines and moans filled his ears. He would record her voice and play it as he rode into battle, the sounds of a queen at his mercy. 

He trailed his tongue up once again and circled her clit, then pulled the swollen nub between his lips and began to suck. Dany’s hips gyrated, she was close, and he sucked and sucked until her clit swelled more, then dove back into her cunt, a wolf devouring his prey. 

Dany began to shriek, and she brought one hand to his hair, tangling her fingers in his soft, black curls. He had no plans to leave, but his Queen was helpless, her hands on his head holding him right where he wanted to be, and he shook his head and moaned as he licked. He felt her walls flutter around his tongue, her hips thrusting and she was riding his face, and he felt her come, a warm flood of her nectar filled his mouth and he drank her down, every drop; as she broke, as her walls crashed down on him.

He licked her clean, from her clit to her lips and thighs, then pushed himself up to standing. Dany’s eyes were wide, she was still trembling and holding onto the table for support, as he came face to face with his Queen. He wiped at his lips and beard with his right hand, removing most of the evidence of his feast, and bent to kiss her softly on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, a goodbye, a thank you, here in private, before the sending off at the shore. 

“We will be leaving in an hour,” he said, his eyes still dark as night but softer now, somehow. 

Dany nodded, still half-naked, still tingling from her orgasm. She felt no shame, no embarrassment from their state and at the moment she didn’t care if she shouted from the castle spires that she loved Jon Snow. 

He smiled softly at her and gathered his sword and cloak, leaving without a sound. Dany righted her clothes and smoothed back her hair, regretfully rebuilding the pretense of ruling. There was little time to surrender to her desires, and she was grateful for the moments he had given her. There were kingdoms to rule, and winter was here.


End file.
